When Hells Collide
by IWriteNaked
Summary: It's been two years since I was released from the psych ward, and I still think of the red headed girl I met there, with the sweet smile and the scarred wrists. I wonder if you remember me. I hope you're okay. One shot. Clace. Based on a true story. Rated M for lemons, self harm, drug abuse, mentions of rape, and mentions of death. Not open to continuation.


**This is just something that's very personal to me, and I'm kind of reluctant to even post it. Don't fuck with me on this one, alright?**

**I want to thank Katwood5, rippingbutterflywings, and greygirl2358 who have been there for me through writing this, and I never could have done it without the three of you. I consider you guys to be some of my best friends, and I'm so lucky to have you. Team Hungry and Horny, for life. H&amp;H, homesplice.**

**TRIGGER WARNING: Drug abuse. Self-harm. Lemon. Mentions of death and suicidal thoughts. Cursing, which you should just expect from me, by now…**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments.  
**

* * *

-Jace Herondale-

It's been two years since I was released from the psych ward, and I still think of the red headed girl I met there, with the sweet smile and the scarred wrists.

I wonder if you remember me.

I hope you're okay.

* * *

April, 2012.

They only asked how I was doing in order to hear me say "Fine." It was plain to see that none of them wanted to hear about the achingly slow descent into madness, or the raw stage or grief where my life had been thrown. Alec was my best friend, and then in an instance, he was taken from this world at the young age of 17.

How fucked up is that?

I was envious of those who still found peace through religion. I had only found faith in two things: Faith in a needle, and faith in the bottom of a bottle. Pills. Liquor. I didn't care.

Faith. High. _Same._

I'd always hoped that if I got high enough I could reach the Heavens, and see him again.

* * *

May, 2012.

My mind was a hospital bed, tearing apart the memories in the sheets. I wasn't trying to kill myself. I was trying to feel something—anything beyond the gnawing emptiness that losing my best friend had left me with. Drugs were good for that, you know? I just needed a way out of my head, and…I loved drugs. Drugs were my new best friends. They simplified things in the most complicated way. As Michael Lee said, "_The difference between the addict and one who is drowning is that the one who is drowning knows it. The addict will drink the sea until it becomes him."_

No one believed me when I said it wasn't an attempt to take my own life. I got out of hand, but I didn't want to die. Looking back, I'm not sure I believe that either.

My last thought before I blacked out was: "See you soon, Alec."

I spent what felt like a lifetime asking why I made it, and he didn't. Why he was the one who died, while I was the one who did not want to live.

* * *

June, 2012.

The sheets were crisp and white the way I kept them at home. If I tried hard enough, sometimes I could convince myself I was at home where I belonged. Now, I'm not so sure that home is where I belong, after all. I'm not so sure there is a place that I belong. You're the only place I have ever called home—but I'm getting ahead of myself. We hadn't even met yet.

I always woke up there, in my room at the ward.

Usually to an overweight nurse telling me that it was time to take my medication. She called herself Madame Dorothea. I called her a pain in the ass...to her face, most days.

No one knew that I started throwing the pills in the trash a week before you showed up. They couldn't fix my drug problem with more drugs, now could they?

* * *

July, 2012.

I saw you for the first time. Your hair was the only color in a room filled with white. We were not allowed to wear any other color, and it caused the red of your hair and the green of your eyes to flash brighter than I could have imagined. There were angry, red lines across both of your wrists. You smiled sweetly, and pulled the white sleeve all the way down into your palms when you caught me staring.

I wanted to smile back, and tell you that the scars made you even more beautiful to me. All I said was, "Hello, I'm Jace Herondale."

You shook my hand, but never said a word.

I wanted to say that I was glad you were alive. I was glad that you made it.

* * *

August, 2012.

Your name was Clary.

It took you a very long time to work up the courage just to say those four words: "My name is Clary."

It took even longer for you to trust me enough to talk about other things, but when you did I realized how amazing you were.

You told me about the hatred you felt toward your brother, but never the reason. I told you about Alec. We bonded over broken hearts, and our shared loneliness. "The broken connect best with the broken," you said. "All those shards of what we once were, and maybe the broken are the only people who truly complete each other—maybe the broken are the only ones who truly are incomplete."

You told me that Alec would always be with me. I wanted to believe this, but even now I can't _find _him. I'll never _find him. _He isn't _with _me, Clary.

I will never know what it was that he needed to confess. He died in a car crash while he raced over to tell _me _something important.

"I've kept this to myself for far too long," his voice came out low and shaky through the phone. "This may be a huge mistake, but I need you to know. I'm coming over."

I'll never know what it was. I can't help feeling that it wasn't worth his life.

* * *

September, 2012.

There were fresh cuts on your arm. The nurses didn't seem to notice. I did.

Why did you do that, Clary? Why wouldn't you talk to me?

"It's nothing, Herondale," you said to me through gritted teeth. You wanted me to drop the subject. I couldn't do that, Clary. Didn't you understand? All I could think was that I wanted to be the one to help you.

"It's not _nothing_, Morgenstern," I'd argued in a pleading tone. "Why did you do it?"

You looked up at me through your long, copper eyelashes, while pretending to be consumed in eating red Jell-O. "It helps."

"Helps with what?"

You shrugged your tiny shoulders and said, "It's the only way to stop the flashbacks."

You'd never told me about flashbacks prior to that day. The only explanation for your presence there was that your brother did something terrible. You didn't like to talk about him. I didn't ask what the flashbacks were, or why you had them, though I wanted to so badly. "Promise me something."

"What?"

"Come find me, next time. I will help you through it. You don't have to hurt yourself."

* * *

October, 2012.

You came to find me, Clary.

You crawled inside my bed, shaking me awake. "I need your help," you pleaded.

I pulled the blanket over your shoulders, and you buried your face in my chest until your heart rate steadied, and your hands stopped shaking. I was so proud of you. More than that though, I was ecstatic that you kept your promise.

We laid there into the small hours of the morning, clutching to some semblance of sanity—clutching to each other. "Thank you, Jace," you whispered through the darkness, and I felt your lips brush against mine while I was on the brink of sleep.

My stomach twisted, and launched up into my throat. I wasn't expecting you to kiss me. I had thought about it every time you entered the room, but I didn't think it would ever happen. On most occasions you flinched whenever someone got too close to you. I tried to keep my distance, because I didn't want to scare you.

But once you were in my bed—in my arms, instinctively, I pressed our bodies together. You felt warm and soft. You gasped against my lips, and plunged your fingertips into my hair.

The world may have been falling apart around us, but you and I were unmoving. You clung to me with one hand in my hair and the other tightly gripping my t-shirt. Lately, I long for that place where the Earth doesn't quake. It was just you and I, blissfully falling into the Great Divide.

For us, the world wasn't spinning. My head was, for once in my life, not spinning. I was able to yank my thoughts out of the sky, back into my body. All I could do was focus on what I was doing. What you were doing—making a fist in the thin fabric of my t-shirt, dragging the hem up. "What's wrong, Clary?" I asked, as you tried to pull it over my head.

"You said to find you, if I had a flashback."

My arms tightened around you, and you stopped trying to take my clothes off. In another situation, I would have been glad you were trying. However, there were more important things at hand than my boner. "Why do you have flashbacks? What happened?"

You stiffened, and drew in a shaky breath. "Jonathan," you whispered, resting your forehead against my shoulder.

"What did he do to you? Why do you hate him so much?"

"I can't get his words out of my head." Your voice took on a sinister tone as you quoted him: "'Do you really think mom and dad will hear you down here? They won't, but by all means, keep screaming. I like it.'" You choked on the words, as you repeated the things he'd said to you. "'Maybe if you try harder.' 'I know you want me.' 'I'll see you next time, sweet sister.'" You moved your head, to nuzzle into my chest. I felt you trembling, Clary, but I couldn't do anything the ease your suffering. "He ruined my life, and told me the entire time how much I loved it. In some twisted way, the bastard was right. I felt disgusting, but sometimes what he was doing was actually pleasurable. Am I really so easy to override? Am I really so small, so nearly _gone_?I didn't deserve that."

I had no idea what to say, so I just held you for a long time. How could anybody ever want to hurt you, Clary? You were so small, and your smile was so sweet. It lit up your eyes, unimaginably. "No, you didn't deserve that," I said, finally. "I'm sorry he did that to you."

I was angry, but letting you know that didn't seem like the best idea. You'd seen enough anger, and felt enough anger, that mine would just be an extra burden that you didn't need. Suddenly, everything made sense. The flinching, the flashbacks, and all the times you'd told me how much you hated him. Finally, I understood what was so broken inside of you…and I didn't know how to make you whole again, but I knew that I wanted to be the one to do it.

You nodded. "Can I stay with you, tonight?"

"Yes, of course."

* * *

November, 2012.

Maybe it wasn't so bad, being alive.

You sneaked into my room again, hands shaking as they touched me in a way that left me paralyzed. "What are you doing?" I asked, as your fingertips trickled under my waistband, lower and lower until they wrapped around a very sensitive part of me. We hadn't even kissed again since the last time you came to find me, and there you were, grabbing my…yeah.

"Was it not obvious?"

You were wide eyed and shaking. The green of your eyes looked nearly black in the dim lighting of my room. "I don't think this is a good idea, Clary."

Your hand was withdrawn from my white basketball shorts, but that was not the end of the discussion. You made that clear, when I felt myself being pushed back down against the limp, under-stuffed pillow, and you straddled my hips. "Why not?" Your voice was soft, and tremulous. "Are you not attracted to me?"

"Of course, I am!" I told you. "But you're shaking, Clary. I can see that you're afraid, and I—"

You cut me off with, "Please, Jace." Your shirt was pulled swiftly over your head, before I could register what was happening. My breath hitched at the sight of your bare chest, and you pressed your lips down on mine hard. "I want to know what sex is _supposed _to be like. I don't want to find out with anyone else. You're the only person I trust enough to show me. Please, Jace, I need you."

I still wasn't sure, but it seemed like you were. "You want me to…show you?"

I didn't know how to do that, Clary. What if I scared you or it wasn't the way you thought it would be?

Part of me wanted to take you right then, the way I had imagined so many times before in my room late at night. The more responsible piece of me wanted to make sure you were ready before I did anything like that with you.

You nodded, soft red curls falling delicately over your naked shoulders. It looked lovely. You always looked lovely, but especially with your shirt off. I didn't only think that because I was a hormone driven seventeen year old, though that was certainly the case. You were just a beautiful sight to behold, and the more of you I could see, the more mesmerized I was by the porcelain tone of your skin, and the connect-the-dots patterns I could find in your freckles. "Yes. I want you to show me." Your full, pink lips pressed together, anticipating my answer, bracing yourself for rejection.

"Are you sure? I don't want to do something you'll regret." I let out a long, thick breath I'd been holding for far too long. "And I don't want to scare you."

"I'm not scared. I'm nervous. There's a difference."

I ran my thumb over your stomach, stopping at your belly button. How such an innocent, simple body part could turn me on so much was beyond me. "If you're sure," I agreed.

You nodded. "I'm sure."

I smiled, and you stared down at me with searchlight intensity. I don't think either of us knew how to start. I mean, you were shirtless already. If I'm being honest, I had no idea how to approach the situation. I'd been with girls before, but never anyone that mattered. I didn't even remember most of their names. It was different with you, and I was terrified of messing it up, leaving you traumatized further than you already had been.

I lifted your hands from where they rested against my chest, and brought your scarred wrists, one at a time, to my lips. "Why did you do it?" I asked.

Your gaze softened. "I wanted to die."

I imagine that I looked pallid at that moment. "Do you still want to die, Clary?"

When you nodded, my heart shattered, and I watched as the memories played behind your closed eyes. "Were you trying to kill yourself when you overdosed?" you asked me.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I hardly remember that night."

You bit your lip and leaned forward, hands sinking into the mattress, causing the springs to creak. "You're okay with this, right? I'm assuming you've done it a ton of times before, so I just thought…"

My hands went into your hair before I could stop them. "I've done it before," I told you.

"So, you don't mind? Doing it with me, I mean."

I chuckled and let one of my hands move away from your mess of red spirals, to graze the subtle shade of pink that covered your freckle splattered cheek bones. "Don't make it sound like a chore."

Your eyebrows rose; both of them. "Isn't it, though?"

My hands ran down the curvature of your spine, and you shivered. "I would be lucky to be with you, Clary. Any guy who thinks of making love to you as anything less than a gift that you are giving him, is not worthy of you."

Our lips met hesitantly at first. Your hands trailed up my chest, taking my white t-shirt up with them. I growled when the bare skin of your chest pressed against mine. _So soft. So warm. _I deepened the kiss, slipping my tongue past your lips, which you eagerly accepted.

Your lips trailed down my neck, consuming me. I needed more of you. We weren't close enough. There were too many articles of clothing in the way. I ripped off my shirt, and flipped us over, so you laid flat on your back, staring up at me in a way that rendered me incoherent. My hands trailed down your sides, feeling how soft your skin was. I helped you wiggle out of your shorts, tossing them to the floor, before you reached for mine.

"Are you sure about this, Clary?" I asked again.

"Yes," you said. "I want to, really."

To say that I wanted to as well would have been a hell of an understatement. You were stark naked, and I was well on my way there. I allowed you to remove my shorts, and brought my lips back down on yours.

My hands trickled down your thighs, teasing every inch of you, until you were exactly where I wanted you. You thrust your hips against my well placed fingertips, desperate for friction. "Be patient," I whispered, pulling my hand away as you rolled your hips again.

You growled against my lips, pushing my hand back where you wanted it. I was teasing you, and you hated it. That much, I knew. "Jace!" you hissed in frustration.

"Clary," I replied, innocently.

Your hips lifted again, impatiently. "Jace, please."

I smirked against the soft skin of your neck. "I don't know what you want, Clary."

You sighed when I touched you again. Right. _There_. "Clearly, you do." Your throat vibrated against my lips when you spoke.

"I want you to tell me," I said.

You groaned, thrusting your hips against my hand. You did not like being teased. "Why?"

I chuckled, pushing one finger inside of you. "It turns me on. Just tell me."

You bit your lip, squirming underneath me. Your hips bucked. "You know what I want, Jace."

You weren't going to say it. I thought that perhaps you needed some convincing. I kissed down your neck, causing you to shiver. Then down your chest, pausing to give attention to each of your breasts. You moaned as I moved further down, across your stomach, and finally looked up at you from between your thighs.

You bit your lip again as I slid my fingers in and out. I was going to make you mine. I'd be sure this wasn't just a one-time thing. You'd want me again, and again, the way I wanted you. Forever. You'd never want anyone else when I was done with you. I never could have guessed that _I _would never want anyone else.

You groaned as my breath tickled your core, and your hips lifted involuntarily. Your face was flushed with shame, and want. I knew you were ready for me. I could see it in your eyes, but I wanted you to say it. I wouldn't give in until you couldn't take it anymore.

I placed a soft kiss right where you wanted me to, and you emitted a low, frustrated moan. "Jace." My name fell softly from your lips, almost like a melody. You let your rapid breath escape, as my tongue flicked out. "_Jace!" _you hissed.

I leaned closer, applying pressure to your clit. I got lost in you, using my mouth to tease the most intimate part of your body, until your hands pulled me away by my hair. "Problem?" I asked, smiling.

"You're being such a tease."

I crawled back up, placing my hands on either side of your head. "Tell me what you want me to do."

You sighed, and reached down where you found me warm, and hard. You guided my member and lifted your hips until I was inside of you. "Just do it, Jace," you begged, rolling your hips. How could I saw no to that?

My hips rocked and forth back slowly. You lifted your hips to meet mine hard. I guess you didn't want slow and gentle, after all. I took the hint, and sped up until you couldn't keep up with me anymore. Your breath was coming out in short pants, and you whispered my name a few times. I liked the way that sounded. Your lips trembled, a gasp falling from them as your head fell back and your eyes shut. "Fuck," I groaned, pushing myself back into you and running my lips over your pulse.

My rhythm slowed, and I watched you squirm underneath me. I was worried you'd be scared, but you didn't look like you wanted me to stop. "Jace, please," you begged, and your fingers pressed into my biceps, trailing over my chest and leaving claw marks on the curvature of my spine.

My hips stopped, and I grabbed your hands pressing them into the pillow above your head. I realized too late that holding you down probably wasn't a good idea, but you didn't seem to notice. "Please what?" I urged. You groaned, already getting tired of my game. My hips snapped hard against yours, and you cried out.

"Harder," you answered breathily.

My hips snapped against you, knocking you further up in the bed, only to have me pull you back down seconds later. Your eyes searched mine, pupils blown to no extent, and the green of your eyes vibrant as I've ever seen them. I chuckled, continuing my torturously slow movements again. "No," I said.

You whined. "Why?"

I sped up, suddenly, causing you to gasp and arch your back, before I slowed down again. "Because I like seeing you beg."

Your eyes closed, and a small whimper escaped every time I sank myself into you. I think you knew I was enjoying the noises; taking my time to watch how I could make you unravel only when I allowed it. When you opened your eyes again, I could see that they had darkened several shades. My golden hair had fallen over my eyes, and you thought I was hot like that. I knew it, and I gave you my signature smirk. You bit your lip.

Your nails dug into my shoulder blades, and I moved quicker, causing your back to arch off the bed slightly. "So sexy," I moaned, and kissed the length of your neck. I was getting close, but so were you. I wrapped my arms around you, without thinking. I wanted to hold you while we came together. The world exploded into a fiery blaze of eroticism. Hips bucking, jaws clenching, breath hitching, muscles convulsing, your nails digging into the skin of my shoulder blades. The most beautiful loss of control.

I left my arms around you, and rolled over, pulling you into my chest. You sighed contently. "Thank you," you whispered against my chest.

"Thank _you,_" I replied.

"I'm serious. Thank you. That was…" you trailed off, and nuzzled your face into my neck.

I tightened my grip on you. My eyes were beginning to slide shut. "I like you, so much."

"I like you, too."

* * *

December, 2012.

I refused to leave my room that day.

Alec's birthday was the hardest day to go through. When we were children, we'd spend his birthdays in the snow, trying to dig a tunnel that we could kick Isabelle out of. "No girls allowed," we'd tell her.

She'd cross her arms and stomp her foot. Every year up until the time we were twelve, she'd get angry and collapse our tunnel. It had become a routine for the three of us. We expected it, and I found myself looking forward to it every year.

When we were older Alec and I would spend his birthday inside, binge watching episodes of Alien Nation. That was our favorite show. No one quite understood why we liked it, but there was something about it that neither of us could explain. Sure, it was terrible, but we loved every horrible moment of it.

I never sang Happy Birthday to my best friend. Not once. We listened to his favorite song just before his birthday ended at Midnight. I can still see the way his bright eyes glazed over every time he heard _You're Not Alone _by Saosin. To this day, I can't hear the song without the lyrics vanishing inside of his name.

* * *

My head was pounding from crying. I told myself I wouldn't do that. Alec never saw me cry, and he wouldn't have wanted me to start.

I didn't feel real anymore. Reality had become abstract to me. I was edging toward my breaking point. You could have lit me up, and smoked me in.

There was a knock at my door, but I made no move to answer it. I couldn't bring myself to leave my bed. You came in anyways, despite the lack of invitation. "Jace?" you whispered through the darkness. I hadn't even bothered to turn on the light, and there were no windows in our rooms.

I was lying on my side, facing the wall. "Not now, Clary." My heart ached when I said it. I couldn't let you see me that way, with tears nearly leaving my amber flecked eyes.

"What's wrong?"

I tried to push the memories of Alec away, but even now, he is in my veins. He cried out for me from somewhere unfamiliar and unreachable. I was sick of scrambling to find words. "Nothing." I had tried to open my skin, to let him out. The needle came bursting to life in the blue trails down my arms. Still, Alec remains inside of some unreachable piece of me. I did not understand that he could not be removed.

You crawled in the bed behind me, and wrapped your arms around my waste. "Tell me what's wrong."

I didn't turn to face you. Your forehead rested in the space between my shoulder blades, and your hands gripped my t-shirt. "I miss him," I admit. "He would have turned 18 today." I shut my eyes tightly, thankful for the darkness that didn't allow you to see the state I was in.

"I wish I could tell you that he's in a better place," you whispered into the back of my neck. "But neither of us believes in a higher power or life after death. I wish we did. That would make losing people so much easier."

* * *

You spent the rest of the day with me, after explaining to a nurse why we should be left alone.

"Love is the empty space between remembering, and hoping," you said.

I shook my head. "Love is a lot more compassing than that." That was the moment I realized that I was in love with you. I haven't been able to stop loving you, since.

* * *

January, 2013.

Something was wrong, but you wouldn't say what. I'd given up on trying to get it out of you, as we sat on your bed. You leaned against my shoulder, and I talked to you about anything I could think of. I knew you weren't listening. You sighed, and cut me off with a kiss, mid-sentence. My breath caught, as it did every time you pressed your mouth to mine. I would never get used to that. "I'm going to take a shower," you said as you pulled away from me.

I waited in your room until I heard you screaming and you ran out of the bathroom wearing only a towel, with shampoo still in your hair. "What's wrong?" I asked in a panic, and you hid behind me.

"Dragonfly." You shuddered. I recalled a time when you said that dragonflies scared you more than most things.

In the most serious tone I could muster, I looked straight at you and said: "I think dragonflies are cute."

You were not amused.

* * *

February, 2012.

Sometimes you just can't protect the people you love.

My world shattered all over again when you told me, "They're making me go home."

You'd been my rock for those months, and you were being released. It was the last time we'd see each other, and I was a wreck. I told you I did not want to live anymore, and you said, "I know you won't kill yourself. You've got a light inside of you." I regret not telling you that you were the one giving me the light. I hope you're still alive. After all, you promised to be at my funeral.

We stayed up all night, drown in the small reflections of ourselves in each others eyes. We took our coffee black, trying to keep ourselves awake through the night. You'd go back home in the morning. I felt immersed by your soul. What were you going back to the next day? Why was it that you were the one to get help, when your brother was the only one that was truly sick? Would he hurt you again? Would you be okay, Clary? I wished I knew.

Together we stayed up all night, getting lost in each other. We were carelessly in love, though we did not say so.

I wish we had.

* * *

Present day.

It's been two years since I last saw you. You never called, like you said you would. When I called, you never answered your phone. The ward was not allowed to give me your address. I still try your cell phone every now and then, knowing that you'll never answer. Maybe it was just a fling to you, but it meant something to me. I can't move on. I can't go out and find someone new, when you're the only girl I ever think of. It's been two years, and I still want you. I still _need you, _Clary.

Alec's death still haunts me. I'm looking for him again. When I hear his name called on the streets, I skim the crowd for electric blue eyes. When I hear someone mention archery, I still choke on his name.

When is it supposed to get better?

I pass a hand through my hair when I hear my ringtone. I don't get my hopes up anymore when my phone rings, but a part of me still hopes it's you every time. I flip my phone over, while it's still on the charger. For the first time, your name lights up the screen. "Clary?" I choke out. I can't believe you're calling me.

"Is this Jace Herondale?" It's not your voice that responds. My heart drops.

"It is. Who's calling?"

"My name is Valentine Morgenstern. I'm Clarissa's father." _Has something happened to you, Clary? Are you okay?_

"Is she okay?" My voice is barely loud enough for him to hear.

"I don't know how to say this. Clary tried to kill herself this morning. The note she left was signed to you. Her mother and I thought it would be best if you were here when she wakes up." My heart leaps up into my throat. "If she wakes up," he chokes, sadly.

You tried to kill yourself? Why would you do that? You can't just leave me here, Clary. We were supposed to last. You were supposed to be okay.

"Jonathan," I whisper.

"Excuse me?" Valentine asks.

"Where is Clary? I'll be there as soon as I can." I ignore his question. I'm coming to see you, Clary.

* * *

You look impossibly pale. Your red hair spreads out in waves over your shoulder. God, Clary, I missed you so much. A man with nearly white hair stands by your bedside, with a woman who looks like you. Her hair is shorter, and she's taller, but she's clearly your mother. "Jace?" the man asks.

I nod, but don't trust my voice.

"Thank you so much for coming," the woman says, but I'm not paying attention to her. There's a boy around my age leaning against the wall behind your parents. He has the same eyes as you and your mother, but the rest of his features match your father. This is the boy who hurt you. This boy is the reason you wanted to die, and he's making eye contact with me, his mouth twisted up cruelly at the edges. "Jonathan," I growl through gritted teeth.

He cocks his head to the side. "Yes?"

The memory of you shaking, and crying in my arms comes back to me, but I can't allow myself to feel this way. I dive deeper into the anger that seeing this boy brings me, and I allow my blood to come to a boil. I want to cut the sinister smirk from his too-angular face. "I know what you did," I tell him, ignoring that fact that your parents have no idea.

He lifts a flaxen eyebrow. "I know. Clary said she'd told you. That's why I didn't allow her to speak to you again."

"What's going on?" Valentine demands.

"Nothing, Father," Jonathan replies sharply. He steps away from the wall, and takes your pallid hand in his. His thumb runs over your knuckles slowly, and he looks down at you with nothing but lust and admiration.

"Don't touch her," I bark.

"What's this about?" your mother asks.

"Everything is fine, Mother."

"Everything absolutely is not fine," I tell them. "Your son has been hurting Clary. She told me everything when we met in the ward."

Jonathan glares at me. "You met my sister in a _psych ward. _Why should anyone believe you?"

"You're lucky I haven't killed you already, for what you did," I growl. "Don't push me."

Your brother smirks, and turns to your parents. "Could we have a moment, please?"

"Absolutely not," Valentine objects.

"Val, let's go," your mother says at the same time. They share a look, before your mother takes his hand and drags him out of the room.

I don't take my eyes away from Jonathan's lifeless green eyes as they leave. "Clary doesn't want them to know," he says, finally.

"You _raped _her. Of course she doesn't want them to know, but they _should _know."

He smirks again. "How much did she tell you?"

"She told me everything."

"And then you fucked her," he challenges.

"I love her," I whisper. I love you, Clary. I take your hand in mine, while Jonathan still holds the other. I want to punch him, and make him stop touching you, but I don't do that.

"I love her, too," he states. I don't think he knows what love is.

"You don't hurt the people you love."

Jonathan cocks an eyebrow. "Do you know what I did, when she came home from the ward?"

I shake my head. "Don't." I know he's going to tell me, anyways.

"She was begging me to stop. It was adorable how she thought she had a choice." He reaches up to stroke your cheek, and I feel powerless to stop him, though I could easily throw him to the ground. "After I was finished with her, she said your name while she cried."

"Stop."

"I watched the fight slowly drain out of her. She doesn't try to stop me anymore, but she says _your _name every time. She calls out to you, and you are never there."

"Jonathan, shut up!"

"I think she likes it. You should hear the way I can make her moan."

"STOP!" I didn't mean to yell so loudly, but hearing him say these things, and seeing him touch you is just too much for me. "You'll never have her again."

Your brother cocks his head to the side. "And neither will you." He smiles fondly at you. "It's unlikely she'll even wake up."

Jonathan offers me a folded note.

* * *

_Jace,_

_Please don't ever think that I didn't try._

_I etched a thousand words into my skin, trying to make this right. I've only found faith in two things: Faith in a knife, and faith in you. I know you found faith in me. You always found faith in better things._

_Forever yours,_

_Clary._

* * *

I duck my head, trying to push back my mental breakdown for just a little longer. "I can't lose you too, Clary. Alec is gone, and you're all I have. Please just stay with me." In a faraway place in my mind, I hear the footsteps leading out of the room—Jonathan leaving—but I can't be bothered with the tragedy of looking away from you.

"Wake up, Clary," I mutter into your hair. For the first time since we were in the ward, I let myself cry. Being here with you is comforting, and familiar. It's been two years, and I can still fall back into the comfortable, slow condition that I've come to associate with your presence. No one else in the world can make me feel even a fraction of the things that you do, and you aren't even conscious.

* * *

Hours pass, in eerie silence. Your family comes and goes, but I pay them no mind. It's just you and I, passing through time. If the clock won't be still, you and I will.

The doctors tell me that your chances of survival are slim. Why won't you stay, Clary? I'm here now. I need you. I've always needed you.

The moment you flat line, I think I do as well. My heart only beats in time with yours.

_God, if you're looking for something to do, I'm praying._

"I love you."

Beep…. Beep… Beep…

Green.

Brilliant.

_Alive._

_"_I love you, too."

* * *

**This story is dedicated to my very best friend.**

**Hey A-Train,**

**I told you I'd write our story with twists and turns, you or I being displayed inside every character in one way or another. I didn't think it would pan out quite like this, but coming up on the third anniversary of your death, I can finally say your name without choking. Asher. Asher. Asher. See?**

**Okay, I lied. I'm choking a little.**

**I'll raise a glass for you on your 20th**** this month, and I hope you're happy, and free from pain...on second thought, I'm mad that you aren't haunting me, like you said you would. I look for you everywhere. I've placed you inside every metaphor I've ever written. None of this has ever been for me. I'm just pouring out pieces of myself, and hoping that they will reach you, and bring you back to me. I miss you when I hear music, and when I see our old friends… When we drive by your house, I remember the sound of your laughter, and Saosin echoing off the walls. I remember you when people call me by my last name, because you did it first. You were my first friend. You were my first everything. First kiss, first dance, first… You know. We pretended we didn't, but I know we both thought about it.**

**Are you shaking your head, right now? I'm sorry, it's just that we never talked about that night, and you always gave me** _**that **_**look. The look that told me you were thinking about it, too. We went through everything together. You were my entire world, and now it's just me, trying to learn how to live without the biggest part of my life. I still need you, and you aren't here. They say that you'll always be with me, but I'll never see you again. You'll never write another song, or watch Alien Nation with me. These are the things that are with me, you're not.**

**I'll never be able to thank you enough for the person you helped me become. Because of you I'm a sarcastic bitch and it's wonderful. No one sees that the humor is all you, but I know. Thanks, Buckley.**

**Also, I'm never forgiving you for the Dragonfly Incident, you sick sonofabitch. Dragonflies are not cute, Ace.**

**Forever yours,**

**-Pendy**

**PS: I know you loved the sex scene, you dirty pervert.**


End file.
